“Well, anyway, I shall take this place in hand! It will make a lovely little snuggery, with rugs on the floor and basket-chairs everywhere about, and an odd table or two to hold books and work, and tea when we like to have it here. I’ll have a blind to the door, too, so that we shan’t be surprised if visitors are shown into the drawing-room. Is there a door of escape, by the way? I hate to be penned up where I can’t run away to a place of safety.” She peered inquiringly round the trunk of the palm, whereupon Victor Druce slid down from his perch, and walked to the further end of the floor.
“Yes, there’s a door here. If you see anyone coming for whom you have a special aversion you can get out, and hide in the shrubbery. I promise not to tell. Perhaps I may come with you. I am not fond of afternoon calls.”
“Don’t encourage her, please, Mr Druce,” said Ruth quickly. “Mollie talks a lot of nonsense which she doesn’t mean; but if people are kind enough to come here to see us, she must not be so rude as to refuse to see them. I am sure Uncle Bernard would be very angry if we did not receive them properly.”
But Mollie was obstinate this time, and refused to be put down.
“How do you know?” she asked rebelliously. “He might be very pleased with me for sharing his own retiring tastes! He said himself that he approved of what other people would consider a fault. Perhaps he likes unsociability. There’s as much chance of that as anything else!”
Victor Druce came back from his tour of investigation, but instead of taking his former seat, leant up against the stem of a huge palm-tree, whose topmost leaves touched the glass roof, folded his arms and looked down at the two girls with an intent, curious scrutiny.
“It’s an odd position,” he said slowly, “a very odd position for us all to be plunged in at a moment’s notice! None of us have any knowledge of Mr Farrell’s tastes, so any attempts to please him must be entirely experimental. If we please him we may thank our good fortune; if we offend, we can, at least, feel innocent of any bad intentions. It’s rather a disagreeable position, but I expect the poor old fellow shirks being left to himself any longer, though he would die rather than acknowledge it. It’s dull work being left alone when one is ill. Personally, it is extremely inconvenient for me to be away from home for three months, but I shall manage it somehow. One can’t refuse a request from a man in his condition, and it would be a pleasure to cheer the poor old fellow a bit, even at the cost of one’s own comfort.”
There was silence for a moment after he had ceased speaking. Jack Melland stared at the ground, and swung his feet gently to and fro. Ruth knitted her black brows, and Mollie looked puzzled and thoughtful. It was a kind speech. She would have liked to admire it thoroughly, but—did it ring quite true? Was there not something unnatural in the avoidance of any reference by the speaker to his own possible gain?
“I’m afraid I didn’t think much of Uncle Bernard; I was too busy thinking of myself. I want to have a good time!” she said bluntly. “It’s a lovely, lovely house, and the grounds are lovely, and the spring flowers are coming up, and we can live out of doors, and be as happy as the day is long. I am not going to worry my head about the money, or anything else. I’ll be nice to Uncle Bernard in my own way, as nice as he will let me; but he said that we could enjoy ourselves, and I am going to take him at his word, and do every single thing I like. It’s an opportunity which may never occur again, as the shop people say in their circulars, and it would be foolish not to make the most of it.”
“I want the money!” said Ruth clearly. The pretty flush had faded from her cheeks, and she looked suddenly wan and white. The hands which were resting on her knee trembled visibly. She had evidently strung herself up to what she considered a necessary confession, and her eyes turned to one after another of her companions in wistful apology.